


R-Rated Fairytale

by sherbal



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: I really tried not to be offensive, M/M, bitter sarcasm, but apparently I failed, but it is what it is, it's not what you think it is, strong language and lots of bad jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherbal/pseuds/sherbal
Summary: Pov from LeFou. This fic is not what you think it is. It can be considered the entire opposite of the Beauty and the beast movie. But it is actually set right after the beast turns into Dan Stevens.





	1. Get a postcard of Ursula rotting on the beach for only .99

**Author's Note:**

> Strong language and particular offensive to other Disney princesses, crones, twitter, NYtimes, ABC, Morgan Freeman, John Lennon and his wife yoko, The carpenters, Woopie Goldberg, Martha Stewart, Chelsea Handler, anyone in Hollywood, anyone named Jean-Claude, every British, every French, every Americans.  
> And I believe this list will go on and on as this fic is unfinished.  
> Viewer discretion is advised.

You see, in a big fancy old-fashioned fairytale story, the narrator is usually some old crones who happen to be the fairy godmother or sometimes Morgan Freeman who has literally nothing to do with this story. Have you ever wondered why there is no princess to do the voice-over work to tell their own story and why they  simply leave this important work to others?

Well, allow me to explain how things are going on here for you, in most cases, a princess will release her autobiography right after her marriage to the prince, commonly uses titles like "Eat, die, kiss" or something like "One night: from pumpkin to prince". And not very long after this becomes one of the top 10 bestselling books in the Nosey Yorkshire Times, movie adaptions will come to the market. And the princess will quickly launch her own perfume or even clothing brand of her own name. Now we have Cinderella de midnight shoes and healthy apple juice shops named "Snow&White". After her marriage, the princess’s Gibber™ account will have more followers than her father-in-law's (which is the king actually) subjects of the whole kingdom. Speaking of her lawfully married spouse, some princes may want to keep up with their wives' pace but frankly speaking, they can't. Come on! They don't even have a name! The Entertainment Millenniumly just refers to them all as "The Prince". People got very confused at the beginning for they thought Aurora and Rapunzel bitched about each other because they were both pinning after the same guy. But according to internal sources, their rivalry was because of their competition in the beauty saloon business. Well, let bygones be bygones. We care more about whether Rapunzel has hair extensions and sleeping beauty's face lift and the authenticity of her given age.

Now you'll probably have a little bit idea about what's going on here and you may already know the answer to our original question, why don't all the princess do their own narrations? The answer is they are just fucking busy posting pictures on Outstagram or attending the opening ceremonies of their own shops. They don't have time for this shit. So some old crones and Morgan Freeman get the job. We should thank them for providing us with more job opportunities for crones. The streets are literally crowded of unemployed ugly old women nowadays.

Now you're probably wondering what am I doing here. I'm apparently not a princess nor an old crone. Then who am I? Why am I blabbing about all of these?

Well, this is my story and I'm the narrator. My story is not about  my miserable childhood and cruel stepmother. It doesn't have shinning shoes or singing animals. I don't have to wear a fancy dress in the end dancing with the prince. But don't leave, I have to say that it's actually a similar story of finding true love.

My name is LeFou, not my birth name of course, which is far more worse, Jean-Claude. This must be the most ordinary name in the world. There's Jean-Claude working in the bakery; there's Jean-Claude giving you a hair-cut; there's Jean-Claude offering handjobs in a back alley. But I have to remind you that, though it's a French name, we don't live in France. And even some of us speak in a British accent, we also don't live in Britain. Shit, Americans made us, alright? But we still can't get a green card. Mulan got her green card by applying a EB-1 visa after her movie came out, while Jasmine are still struggling to get a B-2 visa for her religion.

Anyway, I'm LeFou, a nickname given by my friend and secret crush Gaston when I met him years ago. When I say secret crush, well I guess it's not that secret. I mean, everyone in town knows I'm gay. Gaston knows it as well. He's pretty cool with that. But later I found out he only thought me gay, in the meaning of "cheerful and delighted". I should use the term "homosexual", but this word is way too French for the town to accept. Mind you, we are not really French.

Gaston and I had been best friends for a long time over a decade. You'd probably wonder why I use past tense. It's a long story. It's not very easy to cover the whole thing in a few lines. But I'll try to make it brief, to be short, he went crazy for a girl and treated me like shit and he died in the end.

Even though he turned his back on me, I still love him for him being himself, but as a friend, our friendship was dead, bitch. But you know when you love someone, no matter how hard you try to let it go? You can't. He's always there, haunting you when it's three o'clock in the morning; you woke up all panting and sweaty. Your memory of him will slip into the room, playing on the white wall in front of you like using a projector. You can't get away with it.

So when I saw his dead body in the ruins by the castle, I broke down. It was difficult for me to accept the fact that he was gone for good. He may be an ass. But he didn't deserve to die. Everyone around us was hugging each other and dropping some tears. No one noticed me or my buddy with his neck broken, lying like a rag doll at there, with his handsome face covered in blood.

I got him on the carriage, staying as calm as I can. I can't leave him here. Can you imagine that Ursula was left on the beach rotting when the mermaid and her prince happily went to Dubai for honeymoon? It became a tourist sight. When you go to a beach near the mermaid's kingdom, you can see a giant woman-octopus rotting under the bright sun. You can have postcards of it for only 99 cents. If you buy it with the statue of the mermaid and the prince, you'll only need a 2.99.

I don't want his dead body become a tourist sight. I hate him but I still can't deny the fact that I loved him and maybe I still do.

I led the horse into the woods, trying to avoid the wolves. It's probably okay if I do run into them. Everyone knows that wolves are cross-dressing pedophiles. There's a famous case of little red riding hood's mother suing the B.B.Wolf for sexually harassing her eight-year-old daughter. But Mr Big insisted that they are true love and her grandmother's death was only an accident in the process of him providing recreational scolding( known as SM services) to her. But this didn't explain why he was found by the police dressed in her grandmother's clothes with the old lady's dead body in the cupboard. But he was released in the end, because like I said, the streets are crowded with old crones and it's not a great disappointment to lose one. And everyone only cares about true love, even though she was only an eight-year-old boogie-eating toddler.

Back to our story, when I was hurrying the horse through the woods, known as the Holywood, for the trees in it are all chanting hippie music like "Hey Jude don't worry about your father and his crazy Japanese wife". It was not the season for this song, so they were all murmuring "Yesterday once more" while taking loads of diet pills. This made me so depressed.

Gaston and I had some fun together. We drank, we laughed, we wrestled. Actually we fucked. We just called it wrestling because fucking your buddy in the butt is too homosexual. And I'm only gay.

This was too sad to be true. My whole life's purpose was ruined, not that I had one. It's easier for you to understand my pain by putting it this way.

So when I was busy wiping my tears and taking pills offered by the trees nearby, I hit something or someone.

"Dude, what the fuck? Watch your way! Oh me pots."

Yipee Iceberg was staring at me with rage and a bong.

"You're the lady from the Wiew!" I stopped the horse.

You see, viewers, witches are quite popular on television, mainly because their magic can save most of the budgets of the show. And come on, who doesn't like a black-dressing spotty witch talking about how to make toad stew at eight. We've got" Cooking stews with Martha Stew Wart" and "The cat Handler show". And yes, one of my favorite is "TheWiew" from Arrogant Bald Catholics (short for ABC) net work. It's mainly about five witches talking about life and how to make love potion to keep your husband from cheating.

She was like the last person I expected to see here, maybe besides Oprah.

 

 

 

 


	2. Black don't crack

The black witch quickly hid her broken bong behind her and said, "Son, you see nothing, now go away."  
"I'm not judging, but you have to know that it's illegal in this area."   
"Shut up! Everyone does this in the Holywood. "  
"I didn't know that. I've been living here for years and you're the first celebrity I ever met in here."  
"Son, you're not a journalist, are you? Then quit the fucking questions. Even if you are, I ain't afraid. Stew Wart got some trouble for taxes and Yippee is too high to care this shit. Now shut your Jewish face and carry on with your legal little life." She sounded really high.  
"Ma'am, it's not safe staying in the woods at this time. Concerning your current state, do you need help or a lift?"  
"Have you ever heard that Black never crack? I don't need a lift! I maybe sixty years old but this face, " she actually pointed her pinky finger at her breasts, "doesn't need a lift! I'm not Madonna. Mind your own damn busi..."  
She just dropped dead. Right there on the muddy road in the middle of the woods. Right in front of me.  
I was freaked out. I'm too gay to deal with this shit. It was dark. It was scary and there were pedophile wolves hanging around, hunting for their eight-gear-old preys.  
But stay clam, I've got one dead body on my carriage and there's still more rooms for another. Gaston wouldn't mind sharing his post-mortem personal space with Yippee Iceberg. He watched her show a couple of times with me and I have to say that he didn't hate it.  
I jumped down the horse and carried Mrs Iceberg onto the back of the carriage, putting her next to Gaston, who was just lying there, staring at the sky with blank face and dead eyes. I felt unease. I've seen dead men before, maybe too many times. I've imagined Gaston or myself dead. It was an inescapable image stuck to the back of my head during the entire war. We made it through the brutal war and now look what you've got yourself into, Gaston?  
I've always thought I'm the one who's going to die first. Because my blood pressure is high and I can never lose my weight. And most importantly, during the war, I was more than willing to give out my life to save yours, Gaston. I knew you probably wouldn't do this for me, but it's perhaps why you are lying there, with your beautiful eyes staring into the spacious firmament, and I'm looking at you under this hippie tree singing "Sorry seems to be the hardest word". It's not a hippie song actually. Maybe this tree had taken so many pills.  
I've always know that I love you so much that it's unhealthy. But now, I think maybe I didn't love you that much. I saw you gradually walked into the hell of praise I've built for you. You didn't take them for granted at first after I met you. It was me that trying to push things further by luring you into this false game. You were great, but just like every other officers in the army. I sugared you to make you think I'm something special. I want to be remembered as your only source of confidence and appreciation. It was me that turned a young lad into an arrogant monster. You made me who I am and I actually made you where you are now.  
I got on the horse and pasted a tree singing "All by myself" while burping. I thought those trees were hippies. And now it seemed like they are just a bunch of forty-year-old losers.

When I reached my house, the mist cleared, revealing my shabby little home. I really didn't know how to handle these two corpses. There should be funerals but I still can't pick the theme color.   
Just when I was picturing what kind of black I'm going to use on their separate funerals. I heard a moaning.   
"Somebody hit me with a stake! Oh m head! "  
I turned around, finding Yippee Iceberg was sitting up and totally not dead.  
"You passed out. I thought you died so I got you on the carriage with me. Are you okay?"  
"If okay means not high and desired to die, then yes, I'm okay." She snapped her fingers and in a moment, she looked refreshing. That's one of the witch's trick I think.  
"Who's this handsome lad?" She saw Gaston lying next to her.  
"My friend. Actually, do you mind not touching him like that?"  
"Why did he die?" She was really examine him carefully.  
"He turned evil recently and evil guys need to be dead, you know that." I tried to make this look less heartbreaking.  
"He was your boyfriend?" I certainly didn't saw this coming. The witch just fished out a roll from her pocket and lighted it with another flick of her fingers.  
"No, of course not, just buddies, not my boyfriend, well, not yet, no, never gonna be, never will." I didn't know what I was talking about actually.  
"Someone has a thing with his FRIEND!" She looked divine in her marijuana smoke.  
"That's not true. And he's dead so it doesn't matter." For a second, I thought she was interviewing me in theWiew's studio.  
"Clearly it matters. You have a good heart, young man. Though I hate it, but I want to pay you back, do something for you. Yippee doesn't like owing people favors."  
"Oh really?! Can I guest on your show?!" This really cheered me up.  
"Don't even think about it. I was actually thinking about bringing your friend here back to life."  
"I know you're awesome. But bringing the dead back to life is just fairytale." I wasn't sure about it. I didn't know how could I face him after all these, after he abandoned me with cold-blood in the castle.  
"I don't like getting judged on my capability. You want him alive or not? I've got a show to tape this afternoon." She was getting impatient.  
"Please." I guess even though it's tough for me, but Gaston surely didn't deserve to die.  
"No side effect, right? He won't lose his memories and wake up thinking he's that actor from the Hobbit, or turning into a vegetable like that horse guy in Game of thrones, will he?" I just needed to be sure about this, for I don't want to nurse a vegetable for the rest of my life. I can't get laid with a half-dead person lying in my guest room needed to get his diaper changed every two hours.  
"Of course not, he'll be good as new. I'm not that Cat Handler woman, who knows nothing other than getting her pussy groomed. If you have other questions, just leave it. Our schedule is very tight."   
She fished out a silver plate from her tiny pocket. I swallowed with anxiety. I knew witches are capable of many things including helping a squirrel become a man and get him elected as the president of a country. But bringing people back to life is just unbelievable. I watched with careful eyes, wishing to have something to bolster about later in the pub.  
She got a tiny silver box by another fingersnap , and she looked at it with intensity.  
"This is dangerous, even for me." She was murmuring to herself in a strange voice.  
Then she opened it with shaky hands and poured some on the silver plate she conjured up.  
This was exciting. I dared not to breath.  
Yippee pointed her finger at the sky and started to draw a rectangle , then a small piece of thin card just magically appeared in her hand.  
This is it! She seemed to get all her equipments together. I was fascinated with how sacred this looked. I wondered if this was some kind of dark magic only can be used when the network choose not to renew your contract.  
She used the thin card to cut the white power into three lines, and took up the silver plate to sniff?  
"Oh yeah! Coke in the morning!" She was high as a kite!  
"You're not doing the ritual! You're just getting high! You don't know how to bring him back to life, do you?" I shouted at her as quietly as I could.  
"You really are not bright in the head department, are you? See this?" She did a finger snap," I've brought him back to life and now it's time for my second coke intake."  
"What do you mean? You did nothing..." I suddenly saw Gaston's chest was going up and down steadily. He looked more like asleep now than being dead for several hours. I took his pulse and thank God and LadyHaHa! He's alive!  
I shook him by his broad shoulders and my friend slowly opened his sea blue eyes.  
"Please tell me who do you think you are?" I asked him desperately.  
"What?" He seemed confused.  
"Please tell me you're not Luke Evans." I said prayers in my heart.  
"No, who's that? What's wrong with you, LeFou?" He was good as new! Gaston even steadily stood up. "Is that Yippee Iceberg?" He frowned at the black witch who was sniffing the third line of her coke.  
"You died, Gaston! She brought you back to life." I dared not to look at him but every fiber of me wanted to check if he was really okay.  
"Eh, thank you Ma'am. " He said awkwardly to her.  
"Don't thank me, young man. Thank..." she pointed her finger at my direction, "the impeccable white lord Walter and his apprentice Pinkman. "  
What? Thank the cocaine maker?  
I turned my head back and saw them standing in the woods behind me and waved at us.  
"And, you two should totally go on a big gay holiday that sort of thing, so many sexual tensions that it's getting weird."  
I remained silent. It's not very comfortable to hear the current situation described that precise.  
"I'll leave your boys to it. Ah, my broom is here." A flying broom stopped in front of her, and she got on it with ease. "See you then. No, actually, never mind. Goodbye."  
And she left.  
Then there were only me and Gaston, standing in my backyard.


End file.
